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In a quiet area of the Irish capital, an individual stands in his driveway, sporting a vest and sharing his thoughts. “I notice my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” states the protagonist, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and currently I feel like unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, considers the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his robe flapping with the wind. “Superior to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone tired by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in as a cozy wrap with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

In line with its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part program written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s understated 2019 novel – takes a dim view at modern life; gazing critically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything that involves unnecessary noise, quick actions or – perish the thought – too much drive. This show on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration for those content to pootle around away from attention. But. He (one more sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He feels a growing “need to open the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The passing of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and Leonard, a writer for others, now realizes doubting the choices that directed him to this point (alone; with a protective mustache; working on a range of educational volumes for a man who ends correspondence saying “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (the performer) acting as his trusted friend, guide and co-conspirator in a recurring gaming session that serves both as symposium (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The origin of the nickname seems forgotten to the mists of time. It could be that he once ate some food in record time, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening several snacks by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent lively colleague who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of the awful manager (the actor) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of a series focused less on story and centered around what the under-30s could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the performer), a tired character who covertly observes, records then replays television game programs to amaze his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Leading the audience through all this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “surely the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you're right. Still, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue such as “Leonard's challenge is his absence of an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings fade if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. The series' spirit has good intentions: the right place being “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, showing the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring toward the sky, at other times looking at its feet, serenely certain that no experience is in life as cheering as being with dear pals.

Unlock the entryways of your life, a little, and welcome it inside.